Boromir's problem was that he got bored easily. A big fancy dinner was nothing more than an opportunity to become a martyr. Sculpting his potatoes into beautiful shapes and designs was out, since his father disliked such art. Feeding his dog under the table was also out, since Faramir always noticed.

A large important man was droning on and on, discussing problems with the year's crops. Well, not really discussing. The conversation was nothing but one big boring monologue.

Suddenly, Boromir was inspired.

In the middle of his address, the man felt a sharp tap on his face. Then another. Something small and round was hitting his face and bouncing off. Beside him, Denethor too noticed, and frowned.

Denethor's frowns were unbelievably scary. Sure that the expression was aimed at him, the large man subsided at once, like a bag of air that had been popped.

Boromir was delighted to have ended the speech and moved on, subtly shooting peas at each man as he spoke, until he had the misfortune to hit his father.

Denethor's previous frowns were dramatically eclipsed by the snarl that flitted across his face. The dinner guests froze, terrified. Boromir gulped. Faramir glanced at him in surprise. He had been happily listening to the engaging conversations, and had not noticed his brother's antics.

Before Boromir could shoot again, his father clapped a hand over the pipe cutting off the air. Boromir choked as he inhaled a pea.

As soon as dinner was over and the guests were gone, Denethor pinned his sons down with a steady glare. "What is going on?" he demanded.

Boromir looked at the ground miserably. He would have preferred dying under a bombardment of peas to his father's spine chilling stare.

Denethor moved forward swiftly and snatched the pea-shooter from his son's trembling fingers before knocking Boromir on the head with it, for suitable punishment. Boromir crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"What is this pea-shooter made out of anyway?" Denethor asked. He had not expected his hardy son to collapse under the blow.

"Mithril," Faramir chirped, before glancing nervously at his motionless brother.

"What extravagance!" Denethor cried. "My people are starving and my son is shooting peas at people using this mithril thing!"

"Too true," Faramir agreed, since agreement was safest. He did not wish to join Boromir on the floor.

"This pea-shooter should have been used to make something valuable," added Denethor.

"But it is valuable, Father," Faramir exclaimed. "Mithril is very valuable. I'm sure many people would love to buy a mithril pea-shooter!"

Denethor frowned at the piece of metal in annoyance, as if hoping it would melt under the heat of his gaze. "Where did Boromir get this anyway?"